The internal editor that sits
at a comfortable, safe distance
examines my work.
Today, his attacks are fortified
by those mercenary soldiers,
Depression and Anxiety.
And so, I can only write this.
A single bullet against an army.
Today, I may only have a single bullet.
Tomorrow, I'll have another.
Hordes are created when one joins another,
until, word by word, I have an army of my own.
YOU ARE READING
Before; After
PoetryI'm posting this looking for some feedback. Any constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. Writing has always provided me with solace, by helping me to sort through and frame my emotional experience. During one of the more difficult times...
